


A Study in Caricatures

by nornling



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-10-29 17:23:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10858608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nornling/pseuds/nornling
Summary: In a world where Voldemort never lost his power and Harry's parents never died, Hermione Granger relocates to Japan to escape the escalating war. Maybe attending a normal, public high school would have been less stressful, however.





	1. The Human Factor

The owl tilted its head, extended its leg, and intentionally knocked over her pumpkin juice.

Hermione untied the folded parchment and shooed it away, but not before it snagged her toast. "I hope it gives you indigestion!" she huffed, turning her attention to the missive. Anxiety simmered in her belly, a boiling sense of doom rising within her, coating the inside of her skin.

She unfolded the letter.

_Miss Hermione Granger,_

_Kindly see me in my office at your earliest convenience. You are excused from class for the day, so I shall expect your arrival immediately after breakfast._

_Should you have difficulty reaching my office, a mention of Toothflossing Stringmints should help._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

She wasn't in trouble, was she? It couldn't be, she'd taken care to keep her nose clean this year. It couldn't be about her O.W.L.s either, could it? The scores weren't in yet, and wouldn't be until the middle of summer holidays. Perhaps it was-

Her skin shriveled back, and fear clouded over her mind. Harry's and Ron's families had gone to battle Death Eaters the night before. But what could that have to do with her? Her own parents were Muggle, and couldn't fight even if they wanted to.

"Exactly," she whispered.

It wouldn't do to worry unnecessarily, but she knew she wouldn't be able to stomach any more breakfast.

The walk to Headmaster Dumbledore's office was a short one, and before she knew it she was trudging up the spiral stairs and knocking on the heavy oaken door.

"Come in," Professor Dumbledore called. His voice was somber, definitely, and it didn't help Hermione's nerves.

"You summoned me, sir?" Hermione squeaked.

"Indeed," he said. He was stationed behind his desk, hands steepled over the polished surface. To his left, a small bronze instrument oscillated in gentle strokes. "Please, sit."

Hermione obeyed, clutching her schoolbag to her chest.

Professor Dumbledore sighed, staring directly into her face. "I'm afraid I have grave news for you, Miss Granger," he said. "Your parents passed away yesterday."

"Oh," said Hermione. " _Oh_. I see."

"Do you have any questions?" Professor Dumbledore asked, gently.

"It was _them_ , wasn't it?" Hermione whispered. "The Death Eaters, they killed them."

The Headmaster nodded, but said nothing more. Hermione didn't push it.

###x###

"Hermione, the boys are calling for you," Ginny said. "If you aren't up to it, I can tell them to lay off."

"Thank you," Hermione said, "but I think it's about time I face them."

Ginny frowned. "There's no time limit on grief, you know. You don't have to hurry and get back to normal. No one expects you to, and it's unhealthy to try."

"I know," said Hermione. "All the same, I think I can handle a trip to the Common Room."

Her friend stepped aside, and Hermione ignored her concern all the way downstairs. It was _cloying_.

###x###

By the end of term, Hermione felt she had a pretty good handle on the situation. She talked to Harry and his parents and they offered to let her stay with them over the holidays, an offer which Hermione gladly accepted. Harry, at least, didn't drown her in sympathy like the Weasleys did. Perhaps he just _understood_ , like Hermione did, that there was a war on. Hermione's parents wouldn't be the last people she would lose.

Godric's Hollow was an idyllic little place, and Harry's home was wonderful as always. The library was overflowing, courtesy of Lily Potter, and Hermione spent several weeks working her way through the most interesting of their books. Things were good. Hermione used the comforting silences to process, and the Potters let her.

Peace could only last so long. That summer, Muggleborn families all over Britain were being targeted and eliminated. Dennis and Collin Creevey. Penelope Clearwater. Justin Finch-Fletchley. Terry Boot. Dean Thomas. More every week, almost every day.

Lily Potter was attacked in Diagon Alley in broad daylight. She managed to Apparate home without any serious injuries, but it was chilling all the same.

"I'm worried about Hermione," she said to her husband. Hermione froze outside the door, just out of sight. "I'm staying, obviously. This is just as much my fight as anyone else's. But Hermione... she's not safe here."

"You're right," said James. "Even with the wards on the house, she'll still have to leave someday and then she'll be in danger. She deserves a normal childhood, one without fear."

"What if... what if she leaves Britain entirely? Send her to live somewhere else, like Australia or Asia. We can fake her death if we have to."

Hermione crept upstairs, mind spinning.

###x###

Albus Dumbledore had taken it upon himself to see her safely to Japan, and Hermione was conscious of the honor. She tried her best to feel at ease as they both waited for the snapped table leg to glow. It should only have taken two minutes, but it felt far longer.

At last, the Portkey lit up in warning, and they were off.

###x###

The atmosphere of Ouran Academy was so _light_ , Hermione didn't quite know what to make of it. The aura of fear which every Hogwarts student carried was conspicuously absent. She stood at the front of the class in a simple white button-down and black slacks in lieu of the uniform and absorbed the curious stares. She wasn't even self-conscious. These rich little partridges were no match for her.

It shouldn't have been such a relief to be outside the jurisdiction of any Ministry of Magic. Even the Statute of Secrecy couldn't touch her. She still planned to uphold the laws she would have been beholden to had she stayed put in Europe, but if she had to break a few rules, it was a huge comfort to know that no court could judge her.

She felt the hard line of her wand in her waistband, and any anxiety she felt floated away.

###x###

The scholarship hadn't been hard to get, and keeping it was no challenge either. She hadn't known that she would feel so grateful for her parents' insistence that she keep up with her Muggle education, too, but there she was, excelling as always.

Life was so laughably easy here, it was hard to leave it behind to go home. Home: an empty apartment, sterile and dim. She preferred the Academy.

Maybe she preferred it, but studying was still necessary. And to study she needed quiet, for, unlike at Hogwarts, she was a novelty. The European transferred honor student with the queer accent. The libraries- multiple- were hardly places of learning, and Hermione avoided them as much as possible.

Ouran Academy was similar to Hogwarts in one respect: both were huge, sprawling places, replete with secret passages and hidden rooms. It was a pleasure to explore, to discover every quiet place.

Music room #3: tucked away in a corner of the Academy, practically begging to be excavated. Hermione swung the door open, and-

Crash.

Hermione stopped short, as the source of the noise manifested before her eyes. A student in a baggy sweater was stretched out over a pedestal in the middle of the room, glasses hanging to the end of their nose. The shards of a vase lay scattered over the tile.

This student wasn't the only one in the room, however. There was a sizable group, all boys, all surrounding the maladroit student. She couldn't hear just what they said, but it was clear from the expressions of all present that something was wrong.

Would she ever get used to Muggles? Of course, they didn't have magic at their disposals, but it still seemed like such a silly problem.

Was it worth it to fix the vase?

The tall boy with black hair and glasses leaned in to whisper something to the blonde, and everyone turned at once to look at her.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, before anyone could greet her.

"It's the other honor student," said one of the twins- was she doomed to find Fred and George everywhere she went?- eyes alight with interest. Malicious interest, if Hermione knew anything.

A lesser woman would take a step back, but Hermione refused to be cowed. She'd dealt with Fred and George, and they were wizards. There was nothing to fear from these... these...

"Our apologies," said the one who'd first noticed her presence. "We were not expecting guests quite so early."

"Guests?" Hermione asked, distracted from the unsettling similarities between these twins and the Weasleys. "Oh, I suppose this is a club of some kind. A catering club, perhaps?"

"No, not quite," said the boy in glasses. "May I present, the Host Club."

She had to admit, they did pretty well even without the advantage of magic. As one, they assembled and did some sort of... smiling thing. It was pretty dazzling, if she were honest.

"How long did you have to practice that?" she asked.

From behind the assembly, Hermione spotted the maladroit student coming to and focusing on the situation. She- and it was a she, as far as Hermione could tell- looked deeply upset.

"More importantly," said Hermione, "what's going on?"

"Nothing you need concern yourself with," the blonde soothed, stepping forward and taking her by the elbow.

"Don't-! Don't touch me," Hermione yelped, snatching her arm back. "And don't act so condescending. It's insulting."

The blond reeled back. "What do you mean?" he cried.

"It doesn't matter," Hermione muttered. "You're trying to make that first year pay for damages, aren't you?"

"No, of course not!" said the blonde.

"Yes," said the twins.

"Why would you do that? It can't be that bad!"

"8 million yen," the one in glasses said.

"Oh," said Hermione. That made more sense. Yes, it would definitely be worth it to cast a surreptitious Reparo. "What's your name, Maladroit?" she asked.

"Fujioka. Haruhi Fujioka," the clumsy girl said, looking more confused than anything.

"Would you help me pick up the pieces? I'm sure there's something we can do." Hermione knelt, thanking the sturdy material of her slacks, and plucked up the biggest piece.

"Even if you do put it together, we won't be able to put it on auction," the one in glasses said.

"We'll see," said Hermione.

The group of boys watched in clear bemusement as the two honor students crouched and cleaned up the broken vase by hand. It took hardly more than a minute, but all the while Hermione couldn't shake off the heat of their stares.

Hermione and Haruhi stood. "Here, I'll take that," Hermione said, pulling out her shirt to use as a carrier. Carefully, they dumped the shards onto her shirt.

"What are you planning?" Haruhi asked.

"I'm going to step outside for a moment. Don't follow me. I'll be back in a moment." Before anyone could protest, Hermione stepped back and shouldered the doors open.

She didn't have much time. Someone would come looking and then her opportunity to do a good deed would be lost. Holding the shirt with one hand, Hermione pulled her wand from her belt. "Reparo," she whispered.

The vase reformed easily, effortlessly, and just in time- she heard the doors open behind her.

"See?" she said. "Good as new."

"I don't understand," said Haruhi.

"Interesting," said the boy in glasses.

The small, child-like blond, who'd kept to himself with his tall dark-haired friend until then, came forward and ran a pudgy hand over the surface of the vase. "What did you do?" he asked, and when Hermione looked at him his eyes were shining. "Is it magic?"

He was so... so small. "Yes, it's magic," she said, softly. And then, "Here, take it. I've done my best."

The tiny blonde held it with reverent hands for only a moment before the boy in glasses took it. "There are no visual differences," he accused.

"Or tactile, you'll find," Hermione mumbled.

"Indeed. I'll be sending this in to have it certified- and I'm sure you know that fraud is against the law, yes?"

Hermione scoffed. "I know you're convinced that I just happened to have a handy forgery, but you're wrong. Your professional will assure you that it's entirely genuine. Or, as genuine as the vase you were selling in the first place."

The boy in glasses tilted his head in such a way that the light reflected off the lenses, obscuring the expression of his eyes. Hermione glared back— for she was sure that it was an intimidation tactic— and for several moments they were locked in place, neither willing to look away.

"Ahem," the twins coughed, and Hermione and the boy in glasses turned away.

"If you'll excuse me—" Hermione started.

"If you aren't a customer—" the boy in glasses said at the same time.

They both stopped, and Hermione brushed her hands off. "I'm going. Leave Haruhi alone, would you?" Satisfied to have gotten the last word, she stalked off.

###x###

A lot of things began to make sense after that encounter. The many idle mentions of a "Host Club", which offered every "main" type of boy one could ask for: Tamaki Suoh, the princely type; Kyoya Ootori, the cool type; Kaoru and Hikaru Hitachiin, the devil types; Takashi Morinozuka, the strong and silent type; and Mitsukuni Haninozuka, the childish type. If she thought back, she could connect the names and descriptors to the faces. The Hitachiins were the twins, obviously, and Mitsukuni was the boy who'd been so charmed at the idea of magic. Less obviously, Kyoya was the boy in glasses and Tamaki was the tall blond, and Takashi must have been the tall dark-haired one who'd said nothing at all.

Knowing their names felt like a victory, like she was one-upping them somehow, even though she was positive they'd known hers from the start. Now that she knew who they were, she let it go as an interesting encounter, but ultimately not useful to her.

Or, rather, she would have, if it wasn't for the twins.

"Granger! We've been looking for you!"

Hermione nearly choked on her salad as they appeared on either side of her. "Oh. Hello," she coughed. "Do you two need something?"

"Yeah, actually," said the one on her right.

"Kyoya-senpai had the Renaissance vase examined," said the one on her left.

"What about it?" Hermione said, trying not to smirk.

"It's genuine," the twins said together.

"Of course it is." Hermione took another bite, shoving her homesickness back into its box. "It's exactly as genuine as the one you were going to sell, as I said."

"Well, about that," said the twin to her left.

"It shouldn't be possible." The twin to her right put his chin on his right hand, and the other twin mirrored him.

Hermione shrugged, taking another bite, her muscles as relaxed as she could force them to be.

"How did you do it?"

"How did you switch them?"

"There wasn't enough time to fix it—"

"—And it was a one-of-a-kind piece—"

"—So how did you do it?" They finished together, scooting closer and looking expectant.

She took a moment just to observe them. They reminded her so much of Fred and George! What were the odds that they were _also_ mischievous little devils? And their simultaneous speech, it was so eerily similar. Was it a good idea to spend any amount of time with them? They were little chunks of home, and that just _couldn't_ be a good idea.

"At least you aren't trying to accuse me of anything," Hermione said. "Can you... can you two keep a secret?"

_Obviously not, stupid woman_ , their vigorous nods said.

"It was..." Here she looked around, as if to search for eavesdroppers (of which there were admittedly a few), and then she whispered, "It was magic."

"Tough," said the one on the right to the one on the left.

"She's not going to just tell us," said the one on the left.

"Who are you, anyway?" Hermione interrupted.

The twins exchanged looks of unwarranted glee. "I'm Hikaru," said the one on the right, "And that one's Kaoru. You get the one freebie, got it?"

"Gred and Forge," Hermione muttered.

"Is she having a stroke?" asked Kaoru.

"Maybe," said Hikaru. "She seems a little young for that, though."

"Well, not really. Statistically speaking, it's more _common_ for older people to have strokes, but there's a definite chance to have one when younger. It's often misdiagnosed, of course, but it does happen." Hermione coughed and took another bite, her cheeks reddening.

"She sounds like Kyoya," the twins agreed.

Hermione smiled at the dubious compliment. As unpleasant as their one meeting had been, it was obvious that Kyoya Ootori was a boy of considerable knowledge and intelligence. "Well, you have your information," she said. "Why are you still here?"

The twins stared at her for a moment before saying, "Because that wasn't an answer."

"If you say so," Hermione chirped, secure in the knowledge that she was neither lying nor betraying her secret.

"Why don't you come to the club after class today?" they suggested as one.

"Because I don't have time," Hermione said.

"What are you doing?"

"...Studying," Hermione mumbled, well aware that they wouldn't find it a good enough reason.

"You could do that anywhere," Kaoru said.

"No," Hermione deadpanned.

"Please?" They asked together.

"No."

###x###

She'd meant it when she refused. Really, she had. But the twins, like a certain pair of Weasleys, didn't know how to let things lie. They pestered her for the remainder of the day— an impressive feat, considering they were first years to her second— and in the end Hermione cut her losses.

"You're squaring it with Ootori," she groused.

They didn't look too terribly thrilled at the prospect, as if they hadn't even considered the consequences, but agreed nonetheless.

It was an odd mixture of loneliness and flattery, sitting alone at a delicate table with her books off to the side of the room. Only Kyoya Ootori even looked at her, and Hermione felt all the regret of agreeing to be a third (fifth, seventh, twentieth) wheel.

For all the emotions attached to the situation, it was a good place to study. It was quiet enough that she could focus on her reading and busy enough that it reminded her of the Gryffindor Common Room. She could glance up at any time and find some sort of dignified drama to secure her attention.

Curiosity, forever the crux and bane of her existence, kept her looking up often. She hadn't wanted to admit to being curious about this Host Club, and it was an excellent opportunity to spy.

Tamaki Suoh had by far the most customers, which figured. Hermione could see girls like Lavender and Parvati paying for this kind of obsequious flattery, but she could also see girls like Hannah Abbott. That is, shy and unsure, comforted by that kind of confidence and universal praise. Together they made up such a large percentage of the kind of adolescent girls who would subscribe to a host service that it was no wonder Suoh was the most popular.

The other hosts filled in for practically every other desire. The twins held a sizable crowd of their own, being next on the extroversion scale. They were actually wonderfully adept at maintaining a delicate balance between having a close relationship with one another and seeming to offer an opening for a third. They touched and sweet-talked one another while simultaneously teasing their patrons. It was cruel, in a way, like opening a gate only to face a door, but everyone knew the truth of the situation. That was the beauty of such a service: pretty lies, beautiful illusions. It was a way to introduce steady affection without having to worry about real life for a little while.

After the twins came Mitsukuni Haninozuka and Takashi Morinozuka, a double act in their own right. They offered the inverse of the Hitachiins' attraction; whereas the twins were a perfect circle, Haninozuka and Morinozuka were intentionally contrasted in every way, which brought to mind feelings of maternal and familial tenderness. One could easily imagine themselves as Haninozuka's mother and Morinozuka's wife, and that was the draw. It was the draw of a family unit. Hermione wagered that there were two kinds of girls who kept company at their table: the girls who knew nothing else, and the girls who craved nothing more. In other words, the girls who'd been raised with a doting mother and father, and the girls who'd never had that kind of stability.

Last came Kyoya Ootori— and that was easy enough to explain. He was by no means lacking patrons, it was just that the kind of person who would appreciate his chilly intellectualism would also appreciate that he was a busy, busy boy. Anyone could see that he worked overtime to control absolutely everything in his life— indicative of a lack of control at home— and who would want to get in the way of that? His customers were usually content to just watch, perhaps try to match their auras to his. It never worked, and that was his draw: the unattainable, the prodigy. They all laboured in the vain hope that _they_ would be the Special One to at last capture his interest, to coax out genuine smiles. Beneath such a cold exterior, intuition whispers, must be a burning passion.

They had a good balance, yes, a fantastic coverage of their target audience. As lucrative a business as this must be when only open to those attracted to boys, how much more so could it become if they broadened their horizons? Girls, in most parts of the world, are brought up in vastly different ways than their brothers. Girls must first be comfortable with their own need for such affection, and that sort of realization too often doesn't come young. Boys, however, are almost taught to be such a way. That was a large part of why the hosts existed at all: to provide a service, true, but also to gratify themselves. That was proof in and of itself that providing even one hostess would drastically improve profit margins.

Surely it had occurred to at least one of them? She could recognize the dilemma. The male hosts were hardly seen in any sort of negative light, but a woman would instantly be labeled a slut, a tease. She might even get hurt. Certainly not an occupation for a gently-bred, softly-borne young lady.

The human element was so _frustrating_ sometimes.

At last a bell rang, signalling the end of club hours. The girls groaned but shuffled out without complaint, leaving only Hermione and the hosts.

For her part, Hermione was unsure what exactly she was meant to do. She wasn't a customer, exactly, having been specifically invited there and not subject to the same time constraints as the other girls, but neither was she a _part_ of the club. She could only hope that the twins would take responsibility for their guest.

No such luck. Hermione stared at her page, having mastered years ago the art of pretending to be absorbed in a text while being fully aware of everything around her. If she controlled her reactions, it was easy enough to convince people that she'd blocked out external stimuli entirely, being a handy excuse for why she was still there.

"Um... Miss Granger?" Mitsukuni Haninozuka tugged at her sleeve, and Hermione looked down at him with feigned surprise. "Are you okay?"

That wasn't the question she'd been expecting. "Er, yes, I suppose so," she said. "The twins told me to study here, but I suppose now that club hours are over I should go." It seemed so obvious when she said it aloud, so obvious that Hermione wondered how she could've been unsure. She closed her book and set it atop another one before dragging the remaining two towards her and setting them on top of the stack.

Before she could stand, however, Haninozuka shook his head. "You don't have to go right away," he twinkled.

Oh. They wanted to talk to her, "they" meaning all of them, not just the twins.

"Is there something I can help you boys with?" she asked, pitching her voice so it would carry.

"Yes, in fact," said Kyoya Ootori. "The twins asked you earlier today, but you seemed unwilling to be forthcoming. We are willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that it was because of the public setting."

This boy really, really irked her, Hermione decided. As if she owed them anything at all, much less personal information. As if she should be afraid of them, of him. Still, starting an argument wouldn't end well. "Oh, that," she drawled. "The vase? You've already determined that it's genuine, as far as I heard."

The others had created something of a hemisphere around Hermione and Ootori, all standing. Looming, even. Hermione herself still sat, and perhaps even that had been intentional.

"How did you do it?" Ootori asked. Calm. Frigid. As if he already knew, and he was just waiting for a confession.

"Magic," Hermione said. She felt her wand press against the skin of her stomach, and she wondered whether she would have to use it. Muggle or no, this was a six-to-one ratio, and she was already in an unfavorable position.

"Hermione Granger, sixteen years old, female. Transfer student from Britain. Qualified as a scholarship student and began attending Ouran Academy during the second semester. Homeschooled during middle school and first year of high school. Both parents deceased as of three months ago. Has no legal guardian—"

"How long are you going to do that?" Hermione interrupted, resting her elbow on the table and keeping her twitching muscles under control. One of the couches in the center of the room buckled and pressed into the marble tile. She could fix it, naturally, but that would only draw her more indelibly into this situation.

Ootori audibly snapped his little black notebook shut and waited.

"Look," said Hermione in a softer voice than she knew she was capable of with such fury in her veins. "You're all reading too much into this. I didn't mean to get involved. I was helping someone out, and if I'm not mistaken even helped you all in the process. A lot of things in this world don't make sense, and it's—" Hermione stopped, shook her head, and placed a hand atop her stack of books. "I'm sorry that you're not used to not knowing things. Really, I am. It must be infuriating. But it's not my problem, and if you don't believe me, then that's on your head."

There was silence for several moments, and then Hikaru said, "Sure, we'll believe you. Why not?" Kaoru nodded his agreement, both of them grinning.

The others didn't quite agree, but neither did they argue. At last Ootori gave a sigh. "I cannot in good faith detain you any longer. You're free to go."

That couch crumbled further. Hermione resented the implication that she couldn't have left if she'd wanted to. She really, really, really resented it.

Emotions aside, Hermione scooped up her books and huffed her way out. No one tried to follow her, but she twisted around the corridors anyway.

Her breathing was coarse and stuttering, and Hermione stopped to get herself under control. That could easily have gone sour, and Hermione couldn't figure out why they'd let her go so readily. The human factor would destroy her yet.

###x###

The next few days were trying.

The Hitachiin twins continued showing up where they had no business, to the extent where Hermione had to wonder whether they ever went to their own classes. Ootori and Suoh, too, made a habit of being everywhere she was. They, at least, had the excuse of being in her year and, if she looked, in some of her classes.

It felt like she was being stalked, hunted. She hated feeling like that, like she was only tiring herself out before they inevitably caught up.

Even so, Hermione refused to give up. She would keep running until the bloody end. If she were to lose, it would be to someone worth losing to.

"What's that look for?" said Hikaru.

"It's scary," said Kaoru.

Hermione took a deep breath, her heart doing its best to escape her foolish body. "Go away," she said.

"Nope," the twins chirped.

"Actually—"

"We were wondering—"

"Are you available this afternoon?"

"To be trapped in a confrontation again? No, thank you, I have a limit. Once a week." Hermione turned the page with too much force, and a small ripping sound echoed in the space between the three of them as the corner separated from the binding. Hermione wanted to cry.

It was just after six in the morning. She'd come in early to study in one of the libraries since she'd known no one would be there.

Hermione had to wonder why they were so interested in learning her secrets when they seemed fairly magical themselves.

The twins each settled an arm over her shoulders and leaned in, creating a sort of flat hug. Hermione tensed, but they didn't seem to notice or care that she was uncomfortable.

"No confrontation," they promised. "We'll even pay attention to you this time."

"Oh, yes, that's just what I need," Hermione said. "To be mistaken for one of your incest groupies. I have standards, you know."

Far from being offended, they laughed, deep chortles that tugged at the corners of Hermione's mouth. "Fair point," they said. "We'll let you study?"

Now that was a tempting offer. She'd gotten a lot done in that one afternoon, even with as much time as she'd spent spying on the club. "Why?" she asked. "What do you get out of it?"

"You're interesting," Kaoru said.

"And you're driving Kyoya spare," Hikaru said.

"We guess it takes time for information to come in from Europe."

"He doesn't like not knowing things."

Hermione smiled. "And, being the chaotic forces that you two are, you'd like to push together things that don't fit together on their own. Is that it?"

"Close enough," said the twins.

"Fine, I'll go. Today. I'm not promising anything after that!" she said.

Satisfied, the twins set down their heads and fell asleep almost instantly.

Hermione gazed with blank eyes at the grain patterns in the dark cherrywood table. She really was getting lonely, wasn't she? She was agreeing to insert herself into a situation which could potentially reveal the existence of magic to a room full of Muggles for the entertainment of a pair of red-headed troublemakers who happened to have similar mannerisms to old friends of hers, and all she got in return was the illusion of having close relationships. If she didn't dislike using the word as much as she did, she may even go so far as to call it pathetic.

Still, she felt a thrill in the pit of her stomach like climbing ivy, spreading tendrils throughout her abdomen. Of course she would go. If she were honest with herself, she'd been hoping for another invitation from the start.

The day passed in minutes and hours, and by the final bell Hermione's limbs were shaking. Would she be ignored again? Would she be confronted again, intimidated again? Or would they treat her like a guest?

She pushed open the double doors to Music Room #3 and inside found everything exactly as it was, only without the hosts. Hermione stepped forward, the bottoms of her shoes loud against the marble. Everything in her was screaming that it was a trap, but Hermione marched forward, aiming for the table she'd studied at a few days ago—

The sound of several balloons popping at once pierced her ears, and Hermione shrieked at the top of her lungs, her hand nearly punching herself in the gut as it grabbed for her wand.

"Happy birthday!" rang the deafening shouts of half a dozen teenage boys.

Hermione froze. Birthday? "My birthday was two weeks ago," she said. And she definitely hadn't spent it moping around her apartment thinking about home and her parents. Definitely not.

"We know!" cried Haninozuka. "But we never celebrated it, so we're doing that now!"

"Oh," said Hermione, and it was the most intelligent thing she could think of to say at the moment. She studied the faces in a ring before her, this time bearing vastly different expressions than they had only a few days before. Haninozuka especially was beaming, and it was difficult indeed not to respond in kind.

The party was brief but intense, as they had to pack up before the girls arrived. Hermione helped despite their protests, and she fought a smile the whole time.


	2. To Oppose Pity

"Mione, Mione, will you watch Usa for me?" Mitsukuni Haninozuka held out his stuffed bunny with a look of distracted expectation, and Hermione took the toy.

She sat alone, waiting for her turn to be examined. Predictably, she wasn't a priority patient, and so she had plenty of time to watch the hosts disappear behind curtains for their turns. Haninozuka was the last of them.

A thought twinged in her head— was she like a pet to them? A servant, perhaps? Hermione vividly remembered the relationships between those with money and those without at Hogwarts, and it was nothing she wanted any part of.

Hermione wasn't quite the _last_ to be examined. That would have been a blatant statement. She and Haruhi Fujioka avoided eye contact as the line dwindled down to nearly nothing.

"Fujioka Haruhi!" a nurse called.

A miserable-looking boy sank down into his seat, turning dejected eyes to Hermione.

If Hermione thought about it, a memory came up to the surface. It was of an offhand comment in the hallway, snidely remarking that the boy had been disowned from his wealthy, influential family. Hermione had no idea why, but she could be certain from his demeanor that he regretted it.

For a few minutes more the boy tried to catch her eye and Hermione didn't let him. She would look up occasionally to find him staring at her, and she would smile politely and look away.

"Granger Hermione!" And she was saved.

The bunny felt bulky in her hand as she stood, smoothed her blouse, and went to meet the nurse. "Hello, good morning," she offered, smiling reflexively.

"Good morning!" the nurse chirped. "If you would come behind this curtain?"

Hermione's fist clenched around Usa, and she nodded.

###x###

It had been hardly a week since she'd begun hanging around the hosts after school, and during that time she'd learned several things about her new acquaintances.

Suoh was half-French, which explained his European looks. He didn't like talking about his family, and never mentioned his mother. What was she, a mistress? Dead? Blonde, almost certainly. Despite his mother, Suoh clearly held a lot of sway in the culture-simulation that was Ouran Academy. A _lot_ , based on some overheard snippets of conversation. As beloved as he was by his patrons, his male classmates were significantly less fond of him. Suoh appeared oblivious.

Haninozuka and Morinozuka were cousins and best friends, and if they were apart then either something was wrong or they were planning something. Neither was a good thing. As she'd observed before, they were polar opposites, but Haninozuka wasn't as brainless as he seemed, or as unobservant. Morinozuka, while no slouch himself, wasn't as perceptive as his small friend.

The twins didn't like talking about their mother either, though she was very much a presence in their lives— even when she was travelling, which seemed to be often. After club hours some days they would get so tired that it was almost as if they built a bubble separating themselves from everyone else. On those days no one dared disturb them.

Ootori wasn't nearly so free with his inner workings as the others were. He didn't count on other people's lack of perception like the others did. Hermione did gather that he was the third son and fourth child of the patriarch of the wealthy Ootori family and that his father didn't know he was involved with the Host Club. Hermione especially made note of that bit of information, for she wasn't sure she wouldn't have to put Ootori in check one day.

For all she'd been learning about them, she hadn't revealed much of herself. It was more that she was becoming a fixture, a piece of furniture, than a friend. She was harmless, after all.

It was one of the twins' introverted days, and all but Ootori tiptoed around them. They'd already snapped at Suoh, sending him into a sulk, and sat near Hermione, since they'd discovered that she didn't try to disturb them and was a deterrent in her own right. Hermione was going through books like minutes while keeping an ear out for a disturbance.

The doors slammed open, causing Hermione and the twins to jump. The twins even snarled in the direction of the noise, and when everyone turned to look, they paused.

She was a girl, slender and sandy-haired, eyes wide with wonder. When Hermione followed her gaze, it was aimed directly at Ootori.

"It's you, Kyoya," she whispered.

"Club hours are over," Hikaru barked, and Kaoru put a hand on his arm. They both turned away to glare at the table.

The girl was still talking: "Oh, how I longed to meet you! My one and only prince charming."

Hermione looked between the girl and Ootori, taking in Ootori's cool, almost disdainful expression and the girl's manic eyes.

Was no one going to deal with her? It was obvious no one knew her, but there must be a reason she hadn't been escorted out yet.

Fine. Hermione stood and closed her book.

"Don't bother," Kaoru muttered behind her.

"Miss? Club hours are over, but any guest of- of Kyoya's is welcome here. Please, come sit. Would you like some tea?" Hermione smiled her best and held out a hand.

"Who is this?" the girl asked. Her voice was suddenly chilly. "Why is she using your first name, Kyoya?"

Hermione put her hand down. "My name is Hermione Granger. I don't have the honor of knowing your name, I'm afraid."

Ootori stepped forward, coming to Hermione's side, and that appeared to distract the girl. "Get away from him," she said.

"Sure, Miss. I'll go make some tea." It took effort to keep the anger from Hermione's voice, but she managed, even if her footfalls were perhaps too loud.

"Don't bother," the girl shouted after her, but Hermione didn't stop.

Hermione closed the door behind her, thankful for the kitchenette. She set a kettle to boil and stared into the shiny metal, willing the tears away. The _nerve_ of her, to talk to a stranger that way! To be so obscenely possessive over a boy she'd admitted to never meeting before!

The tears fell anyway, splashing onto the stove, and Hermione did her best to brush them away.

When she had herself under control and the tea was ready Hermione emerged into the parlor again, carrying enough tea for everyone bar herself.

The girl met her eyes from across the room and immediately became grumpy again. "You can set it down there," she said, pointing to the table someone had finally convinced her to sit at.

Hermione's eye twitched, but she obeyed. The situation was tense enough without Hermione getting indignant. Once she'd set the tray down she backed up, fully prepared to leave the hospitality to the others, whom the girl didn't seem to have such violently negative reactions to.

"Kyoya tells me you aren't actually a part of his club," the girl said.

"That's correct," Hermione said, turning back.

"It's obvious what you're trying to do, you know," said the girl. "You're trying to get close to Kyoya by separating yourself from everyone else. He lets you stay here because he feels sorry for you."

"If you say so," Hermione said, and suddenly smiling was easy. She could feel smug eyes on her back as she collected her books and her bag and left.

###x###

She didn't come back the next day.

"Maybe something came up!" Honey suggested.

"It's that stupid girl's fault," Hikaru said. Honey deflated, pouting.

"She's not actually your fiance, so who cares?" Kaoru said.

"Miss Hoshokuji may not be my fiance, but she is the only daughter of a very important Ootori family client. Miss Granger was correct to remove herself from the situation," Kyoya said.

"You would think so, wouldn't you?" the twins grumbled..

The hosts pulled themselves together for their customers, but as soon as they left they were back to silence and irritability.

"Everyone!" Renge sang, the doors crashing open as they'd done the day before. The hosts winced as one. "You'll be happy to know that your new manager has baked all of you some cookies!"

Tamaki cleared his throat. "Thank you, Miss Hoshokuji," he said.

"I'm so sorry, Kyoya, they're a little burnt.- but I already know what you'll say.. Oh, Kyoya, you're always so sweet to me!" Renge set down the platter of charred cookies, and they all eyed them suspiciously for a moment.

Honey plucked one from the top which was only black on one side. He gulped and took a bite. "She wasn't kidding," he squeaked. "They really are burnt."

"Don't eat that, Mitsukuni, it's bad for you," Mori said, and Honey happily relinquished the cookie.

Renge glowered at them. "Some hosts you are," she huffed.

###x###

Changing up her routine was a pain. Where was she supposed to study now? Her apartment? The libraries? No dice.

There was still plenty of space to explore, fortunately, and that kept her mind off of lost opportunities. Sometimes, anyway. When she had nothing to do but pace the halls looking for somewhere else, she could hardly not think.

She'd known it. Suspected it, in any case. Hadn't that always been the case? Harry and Ron befriended her because she was a Muggleborn. Ron dated her briefly because she had no one but them. Hadn't she been pitied her whole life? Teachers, friends, her boyfriend? That girl had been completely right, and Hermione was just grateful she'd been told right away. Wouldn't it have been awful if she'd grown attached and then found out?

A latch in the wall twitched under her searching fingertips, and Hermione took her wand in her other hand and put up a shield before pressing it. She'd spent enough years in Hogwarts to not trust that something malicious wouldn't be built in just because it was a school.

Rather than the booby trap Hermione half-expected, a crack appeared in the wall. She opened it carefully, not letting down her shield, and peered inside.

It was a tiny little room, though bigger than a closet. A dusty old desk rested against one wall, low to the ground.

A flick of her wand Vanished the dust, and Hermione stepped inside and shut the door behind herself.

With the door closed, Hermione felt safe enough to perform more obvious magic. "Lumos," she whispered, her voice pressing in from all sides in the pitch darkness.

The brighter light revealed more than the light from the hallway had. The desk was made of dark wood, polished to a gleam. The craftsmanship was exquisite, and if she crouched to look at the legs it featured some designs typical of the Meiji period. Dragons stretched up the sides, the depths of the carvings accented in red lacquer. Two small drawers fit into the legs. It was a beautiful little piece.

As pretty and expensive-looking as the desk was, it was the only hint of furnishing in that small room.

Hermione knelt and tested the drawers, which opened easily, smoothly. There was nothing inside but more dust, which Hermione Vanished.

When a more thorough examination yielded nothing new, Hermione moved on to the wall opposite the secret door, and, lo and behold, there was another. She slid it open as cautiously as she'd opened the first.

On the other side was a much, much larger room, though it was hard to tell just how big since the lights were off. A group of several students huddled in a seated circle, each holding a lit black candle.

"We have a visitor," one said calmly. In a single fluid movement, he set his candle down on the floor and stood, his cloak swishing.

Hermione scanned the group, finding no familiar faces. Their attire was remarkably similar to Western wizard wear, however, and the echo of home expanded in her chest. She stepped forward. "My name is Hermione Granger," she said, her grip on her bag tightening.

"Welcome, Hermione Granger," the group said together.

"What brings you here, lost Eris?" the boy, clearly the leader, asked. His voice was smooth.

She would hardly call herself an Eris— she was more of a Harmonia, after all. "I'm just exploring," she said, and her voice was jarring in the quiet room.

The others stared, and their eyes were glassy in the candlelight. It would be safe to ignore them; they were high on something, though she couldn't be sure what it was.

"My name is Umehito Nekozawa," the boy said. "There's no need to worry about them. They are safe."

"Glad to hear it," said Hermione, "but it's none of my business. What is this, then?"

"This," and Nekozawa seemed to swell as he said it, "is the Black Magic Club. Are you perhaps interested in joining?"

"Not exactly," said Hermione, smiling. "There's not much I can learn here."

"Is that so?" Nekozawa smiled back, and his was surprisingly friendly. "What is it you think you know? What is it you think we do here?"

Hermione was beginning to relax, despite herself. Magic, even if they were only pretending, was a welcome surprise. "You do curses, rituals, love spells, things like that. Right?"

Nekozawa asked, "And what is it you do?"

What spells could she perform without using her wand? Mostly elemental spells, or minor physical ones, since she hadn't been training for long. "Look," she said unnecessarily, and snapped her fingers. A flame sparked to life in her hand, and after a moment spent staring at its flickering blue light she clapped her hands together, cutting off the oxygen and effectively extinguishing it.

They sat in silence for a few bare seconds, Hermione amused and Nekozawa shocked. "How can this be?" Nekozawa said. "Please, do it again."

Hermione cupped her hands and blew into them, and they filled with water, which soothed her poor singed fingers.

It felt good. Nekozawa stared into her hands and then up to her face with an awe approaching reverence, discernable even in the dark. Hermione blew on the water which was fast trickling from her grasp and it froze solid.

"How much can you do?" Nekozawa asked, "What else?"

"A lot," said Hermione, a warm feeling beginning in her chest and spreading throughout her body.

It was, perhaps, a fortuitous trade: the Host Club for the Black Magic Club.

###x###

No matter how hard the twins searched, they couldn't find Hermione Granger after the final bell sounded. It was as if she vanished as soon as classes were over. They hadn't actually gone so far as to skip their last class in order to ambush her, but that option became more and more appealing every day spent searching in vain. Their only evidence that she went to school at all was the testimony of Kyoya and Tamaki.

Renge made a nuisance of herself every afternoon, clinging to Kyoya. She'd tried to forbid him from entertaining as a host, and only Kyoya's dizzying logic made her calm down.

It was, perhaps, an unfortunate trade: Hermione Granger for Renge Hoshokuji.

"You're not leaving early again, are you?" Kyoya called after them as they sneaked to the door.

"We lost our toy," they said, and went anyway. Kyoya didn't try to stop them.

"We checked all the libraries on Monday, and I think most of the clubs yesterday. What are we missing?" Hikaru muttered.

"Cooking Club, Gardening Club... Chess Club... Black Magic Club... Oh, hey, Nekozawa hasn't come by lately. We haven't seen the room yet."

Hikaru shook his head. "She'd hardly go there, though, would she? Probably not enough light to read by. Besides, she doesn't seem very "magical", does she?"

No, she did not, not with her practical braids and books and slacks. Nothing like Nekozawa.

Cooking Club was full and loud and messy, and immediately upon the twins' arrival they had plates of cake shoved at them.

Gardening Club was hot and muggy, and a girl with pigtails invited them to stay and tend the plants.

Chess Club seemed like a good bet, but there were only guys there— and one single, bitter-looking girl.

Hikaru and Kaoru trudged to the main part of the Academy.

"You still have flour on your face," Kaoru said, but didn't move to clean it.

"You still have dirt on yours," Hikaru said. The twins exchanged a look and a sigh.

The Black Magic Club was in a part of the school not oft traveled, since it was less modern than the rest and way off to the back. It was a long walk, and they arrived at the double doors dejected and irritated.

Together they swung the doors open.

"Granger?"

"Oh, hello, Hitachiins," Hermione Granger said, A breeze lifted her bangs and let them still again, and the flame on her candle flickered.

It was an odd picture. Hermione Granger sat on a chair just outside the circle of creepy children, her legs pulled up and crossed. Nekozawa sat in front of her, leaning back so his head rested on one of her knees. His wig was conspicuously absent.

"Did you need something, Hitachiins?" Nekozawa asked, his voice deep and spooky, though not as much as usual.

"Can we talk to Granger for a moment?" Kaoru asked, the first of the two to recover.

"Certainly," said Granger, her voice just a smidgen colder. Nekozawa lifted his head obligingly, and Hermione unfolded her legs and stood. Her shoes were gone.

The trio retreated to a corner, and the twins could feel Nekozawa's gaze piercing them, judging them, warning them.

"What is it you needed?" Hermione asked.

"Hoshokuji is so _annoying_!" the twins cried. "If you come back then she'll go away!"

"No," Hermione said, gently. "It won't be so easy; if I come back it'll only invite confrontation. I know you two get bored, but I'm not about to sacrifice myself on the altar of your entertainment, all right?"

"But Granger—"

"No." Her face twisted, seeming to alternate between anger and sorrow. "I thank you for the invitation, but I must decline." This sentence was pitched just loud enough for the others to hear.

On cue, Nekozawa said, "Perhaps it's time you two get back, Hitachiins."

Hikaru and Kaoru looked at each other, shrugged, and left.

###x###

Even Kyoya's patience was beginning to stretch. As little as he'd liked Granger, she had at least kept to herself, for the most part, and was undemanding of their time and attention. The same could not be said for Renge Hoshokuji.

His willful silence didn't seem to perturb her in the slightest, and neither did his subtle indications that he wasn't actually as kind as she seemed to think.

The twins left almost immediately after club hours every day, and Kyoya couldn't bring himself to stop them. He knew what they were doing, but he couldn't bring himself to want to stop them. It was probably for the best that the least tactful of the hosts absented themselves when Renge arrived, for they could offend her without even trying, and then his careful cordiality would be all in vain.

Tamaki and Honey were becoming less and less cheerful. It was time to do something.

"Say, Renge, how much do you know about me?" They sat on a couch without anyone in earshot, which was no accident. He even went so far as to look up from his laptop as he asked.

"Oh! You're a gentleman who's kind to everyone and doesn't ask for anything in return. You like solitude, but in fact sometimes you get lonely, and you look like the star of the popular dating sim, Uki-doki Memorial. You're my real-life Ichijo Miyabi!" Renge turned to look at him with hearts in her eyes, the steam of the tea in her hand bringing a blush to her cheeks and brightening her eyes.

Kyoya was, after seeing this exact picture day after day, completely immune. "What have I done to lead you to that conclusion?" he asked.

"Well," said Renge, sobering a bit at his serious expression, "You were adoring those flowers in the backyard when you thought no one else was looking, and you reached out to that poor injured kitten—"

"I didn't actually do those things," he said. "You're in love with that character. You're projecting the love onto me, and you somehow deluded yourself into thinking that we're engaged. It's gone on for long enough."

"What are you talking about? Why are you being so cold? This isn't like you, Kyoya," Renge whispered, tears beginning to well up."

"It is exactly like me, Miss Hoshokuji. I couldn't be any less like that character."

"I know what this is about! It's that commoner girl, isn't it? You like her better than me! It's her fault you're acting this way, it's her fault your friends don't like me! Where is she?" Renge sprang to her feet, fabric flaring around her as if to illustrate her sudden righteous fury.

"Miss Hoshokuji, _sit_ ," Kyoya commanded. "I don't know where she is, because she's removed herself from the situation as a favor to you. The way people view you is entirely up to you. It's unbecoming to blame your problems on someone else simply because you're jealous of them. You've caused enough trouble around here. Please stop being such a pest."

"A pest? What do you mean? You're being so cruel!" She was sobbing in earnest now, and the sound grated on his ears.

"Everyone here is missing their friend. You drove her away, so it's only right that you convince her to return, yes?"

"If I do that... If I do that, will you love me again?" Renge sniffed.

"No," Kyoya said, "Because I never loved you in the first place, and you never loved me. But it's the right thing to do. Do you want to be remembered as a jealous, petty person?"

"No," said Renge, her whole body sagging down toward the floor. "But how do I apologize if no one can find her?"

"If you're determined, you'll figure it out," Kyoya shrugged. "I would start checking in club rooms if I were you."

###x###

"You're bringing in an awful lot of visitors, Hermione," Umehito remarked, smirking, craning his neck to look at her from the floor..

Hermione glanced down at the boy resting against the fold of her legs and murmured, "I'd really rather not deal with this one, but I suppose I'm going to have to."

"I could deal with her for you," Umehito said.

"Tempting," said Hermione, "But if I let you then I'll just have to have this confrontation another time." She pushed gently on the back of his head and he lifted it enough for her to move.

Hermione's posture, gait, everything was far different from what they had been when the twins had found her. She was stiff, guarded, prepared for a fight.

"Miss Granger," Ootori's guest said, her voice almost musical in its contrition. "I'm so sorry for my behavior. Can you forgive me?"

"Of course," said Hermione, "There's nothing to forgive. I never did catch your name, Miss...?"

"Renge Hoshokuji," she said. "Do you mean it?" She seemed so excited.

"Yes," said Hermione. There really was nothing to forgive; after all, there was no damage done, except for a momentary blow to her self-esteem. "You'll be glad to find that I really don't have designs on your paramour, I trust."

"Oh," said Hoshokuji. "Kyoya. He... he's the one who asked me to apologize to you. He says that his friends are upset that you don't come around anymore."

"I'm sure they are!" Hermione snorted, chuckling. "Don't get the wrong idea, Miss Hoshokuji— I'd only been studying in the club room for a few days at that time. There's no need on your part to feel guilty. I wasn't particularly attached to them, nor them to me." Her voice may have been friendly, but anyone could see that she was uncomfortable. Of course Ootori would send Hoshokuji after her. Was she finally too much to handle? It was no less than he deserved.

"Oh!" said Hoshokuji, again. "That does make me feel better! Do think about coming back sometime, then."

"I'll think about it," said Hermione. "Is that all you needed?"

"Yes, thank you!" Hoshokuji chirped. Recognizing the obvious dismissal, she turned and left.

The heavy double doors banged closed, and when they did Hermione relaxed.

"Are you okay?" Umehito asked, his voice soft. "Are you crying?"

"Of course not!" Hermione sniffled. "I'm just... I'm stronger than my body is, all right?"

Slender arms wrapped around her shoulders and squeezed, and Hermione turned to face him. "We won't let her in from now on," Umehito said.

"There's no need to go that far," Hermione mumbled, hiding her smile in his shoulder.

"Fine," he agreed in a voice that told her he would be having a talk with Reiko Kanazuki, his second-in-command. "You said before that emotion can enhance spellwork— do you want to try?"

Hermione hummed. "I'm not in the habit of letting loose like that, Umehito," she said. "Too dangerous. It's a—" It's a wartime thing, useful on the battlefield and in controlled environments, but otherwise too unpredictable.

"It's a what?"

"Nevermind," Hermione said, thinking.

Too often, wizards think that their magic is their slave, when in fact magic is almost a separate, sentient identity. Magic chooses the wizard. Magic loves the wizard. Magic is simultaneously older than time and a child, volatile and powerful in its youthful wisdom. It is not to be abused or underestimated.

Perhaps someday she could tell Umehito that, but he was, despite everything, a Muggle.

Umehito let her lean her weight on him and was quiet.

"I can show you something, if you want," said Hermione at last. "But you'll need to acquire the ingredients."

"A potion?" he said, always quick to catch on.

"Yes," said Hermione. "It's nothing too powerful, mind, but it is magic." She raised her head and looked up at him, her eyes far away.

"What does it do?"

"It will help you with your condition. There's little research done into whether the magic-less can actually create potions with their fullest power. As far as I know, actually, an actual magic touch is necessary. I can help in that regard, but if you'd like to make it on your own then—"

"Hermione," Umehito said. "I would be honoured to accept your help."

Hermione paused, her consciousness coming back into her eyes. "Okay then. I'll help."

The pair shared a fond smile.

"You should write this down," said Hermione. "Lemon balm, bay leaves, burdock, agrimony, aloe, yucca, violet, rue, and rose hips. You got that?" She'd intentionally chosen a potion that was made up entirely of Muggle-accessible herbs. It wouldn't be so effective that it would work without hard work on the part of the user, but it would help some.

"I've got it," said Umehito.

"Since your condition is mental rather than physical, it will cause you to sleep and dream. When you wake up you will have traveled into your psyche and dealt with the problem at its root. And if... if you want, I know how to go with you."

"I don't know about that," said Umehito. "Perhaps this is something I should face on my own."

"Perhaps," said Hermione.

"I will have the ingredients by tomorrow," he said. "Now, we've left the others on their own for long enough. Would you join me again in the circle, Eris?"


	3. Borne of Boredom

"Miss Hoshokuji," Kyoya greeted, and the chill made his fellow hosts shiver. Renge, characteristically, was immune.

"Yes, Kyoya?" She was busying herself with arranging flowers on Honey and Mori's table, a touch that was unnecessary but not unwelcome.

It was such a domestic scene. Kyoya's eye twitched. "Why are you in here before club hours? And where is Miss Granger?" It had been his understanding that she would not come back without righting her mistake.

"Oh, oh! I found her in the Black Magic Club, and she was a lot nicer than I thought at first! She told me that she'd only been studying in here for a few days, and that she isn't all that attached to you all. How sweet of you, to go out of your way to be so kind to someone who isn't even your friend!" Indeed, a weight seemed to have been lifted off of Renge's shoulders.

"I see," said Kyoya. Things were worse than he'd thought. What could draw a steady, practical, _boring_ individual like Granger to the Black Magic Club? He would suspect that Renge were lying, if she were capable of performing such a feat with any measure of skill, except for the event that had drawn the Host Club to Granger in the first place.

The Black Magic Club didn't actually perform magic, however, only chanted in circles and threw curses at the walls in the hopes that something would actually work. If Granger _was_ a person with magical skill, which he still seriously doubted, then that still didn't explain why she would choose to spend her time with such a phony crowd.

Renge moved to stand in front of him. "Why are you upset? Was I wrong to leave her there?"

"Yes," Kyoya said.

"But she didn't want to come!" Renge cried, calling the attention of the other hosts. "And she's a commoner anyway, so she has no designs on getting close to any group here. Even that new club she's in is just a way to pass time for everyone, I can tell. Next week they'll be bored of her and she'll go somewhere else. She doesn't care about the Host Club! I couldn't have brought her back no matter how hard I tried! I did the right thing!" Here she stomped her foot in a petulant move she must have learned from an anime, tears welling artfully in her eyes.

Kyoya was unimpressed. "Miss Hoshokuji, please do see yourself out before our guests begin arriving."

His friends watched with wary eyes as he sat on the couch and opened his laptop, and Renge looked stunned for a moment before fleeing.

###x###

Halloween was fast approaching, and as it drew near the Black Magic Club cultivated a swelling mania. Hermione wanted nothing to do with it.

Umehito had tried to get her to stay, even to the point of reluctantly offering to tone his love of Halloween and Samhain, but Hermione would have none of it. She was content to make herself scarce for a week or so until the excitement died down.

Not that anyone knew it, but she wasn't really going anywhere. Umehito would be both amused and concerned to learn that she'd stopped going to her apartment altogether except on weekends. The small, secret room called to her, and all of its flaws were easily fixed by (sometimes complex) magic. Its security was improved by Muggle-repelling wards and various Notice-Me-Nots, and its size was expanded with only a single enchantment chain. It was a home worthy of her.

She was confident that she would not be found unless she wanted to be, but she'd also taken steps to make sure she would always know if she was needed. She'd bugged the Black Magic Club room, and set up less-intense aura detection across the entire school.

Halloween. A day she'd likely spend pining after feasts and Hogsmeade visits and Harry and Ron. There was no reason to subject anyone to that.

As perfect as her abode was, it got lonely sometimes. She felt as though she was the hermit witch on the mountain, looking after the kingdom but rarely visited.

"What are you doing outside the care of your friends in the occult, Miss Granger?" Ootori asked.

"I wondered when you would speak up," she said, having known of his entry the moment his energy came into range.

Ootori said nothing.

"Nekozawa would laugh if he heard you suggest that they're protecting me," she mumbled, knowing he would hear. "They couldn't protect an ant farm. And what makes you think I need 'care' in the first place?"

"You're awfully chatty today," he remarked.

"Sure I am. I've been reading all morning and I'm so far ahead on my schoolwork I could probably just show up for exams at the end of term and pass everything. Wouldn't that make you chatty?" It had been, what, two weeks since she'd last spoken to him? What could he possibly want from her?

There was silence from them both for several long moments, but at last Ootori said, "Miss Hoshokuji was meant to bring you back with her. Why didn't you go?"

"What do you mean? What possible reason could I have had? The twins offered me a place to study in exchange for me entertaining them by butting heads with you. I've found somewhere else to study which also offers far fewer arguments per capita." Hermione dragged her thumbnail across the page. She didn't ask why he was asking, or what reason _they_ could have for wanting her back. It was confusing and a little bit frightening, and she wasn't sure they even _had_ a reason. Wouldn't that be disappointing?

Ootori sighed, a puff of breath which felt warm even from three yards away. "That does explain why the twins are so sullen lately, but not why the rest are. They performed their duties far better before you left, and I would appreciate it if you did your part to restore equilibrium."

"Not that I really have a grasp on the situation, but I suspect if you want your fellow hosts back at peak performance, it has more to do with Miss Hoshokuji's arrival than my departure."

For the first time, Hermione could detect true irritation from Ootori. "I'll be frank with you, Miss Granger. It is my hope that your presence will help drive her away. She's proving to be difficult to... dislodge."

"I don't owe you anything, you know," Hermione said.

"Yes, I know."

"You're a smart boy, so I'm sure you know what that means. You'll owe _me_ if I do this little favor for you."

"Yes, I know," he said through gritted teeth.

"If you're really willing to pay the price, then fine." Hermione shut her book with a finality which rang throughout the room. "Club hours are about to begin. You're cutting it close, here. Lead the way."

###x###

"Trust Kyoya to achieve the impossible," Hikaru coughed.

"It wasn't impossible," Granger said primly.

She and the twins bickered for a bit, and in the meantime Kyoya observed the countenances of his friends. Honey and Mori were no less standoffish and Tamaki was no less sullen than he'd been before. The twins did seem much happier now that they had their toy back, which was progress, at least.

Renge hadn't yet arrived, and going off of the pervasive aura of dread, no one was looking forward to her showing up.

Before long, the hosts excused themselves to get into position, for the guests would soon be arriving. Granger shuffled off to her table against the far wall, opening up a tome that even Kyoya had to acknowledge was excessively thick, and tuned them out with an efficiency that was almost impressive.

The doors opened, and without there was a group of four of their regulars.

"Good afternoon," he said, his voice more smooth and deep than normal. "May I assume you'd like to request Tamaki?"

"Oh! Yes, thank you," breathed the most talkative of them.

"Is that girl from a few weeks ago back?" one of the others, notable only by her pixie cut, said. "The honour student?"

"Yes, she is, though perhaps not permanently," said Kyoya, and flashed a blinding smile.

As usual, the girls stopped blinking and just stared at him, and when they unfroze there was a giddy quality to their voices when they walked away. It was a surefire way to get them to stop asking questions.

The girls filtered in steadily, though all stopped by Kyoya to request their host of choice. As always, Tamaki was well in the lead.

"Ootori," said a voice from behind him. "How are the accounts doing?"

"I hardly think that's any of your business," Kyoya said coldly, "since you aren't a part of the club."

"That's too bad,: Granger said. "I was only wondering whether the presence of a non-guest girl would lower profit margins."

"You mean you were trying to come up with proof that you shouldn't be around," Kyoya said. "And as a matter of fact, we're having a particularly profitable day. Considering there's no change from the usual and it's not a cosplay day, one may assume that your presence doesn't hurt."

"Good to know," she grumbled. "No, no, that makes sense, sort of. Perhaps it would be one thing if I were a regular student, but I'm a foreign transfer. It would be better if I were a boy, I suspect, but the novelty does its work even considering my gender."

"Correct," said Kyoya, who'd already thought of that. "You see Tamaki? Part of his success stems from his obviously different nationality."

"It fits with his role," Granger said, nodding. "It wouldn't work as well with the fantasy if he were completely Japanese."

"Indeed," said Kyoya.

When he heard no response, he assumed she'd gone back to her tome, but upon turning around he saw her still standing there, though no longer facing him. She watched the room with calculating eyes.

"What do you think would happen if you became a host?" he asked. He'd spoken to Tamaki about it, and they'd agreed that perhaps that was the best option. Renge's harsh words had stuck with them all. Kyoya may not be particularly fond of Granger, but he could recognize that she was a good person to have around, and would almost certainly be a profitable addition to their ranks.

"Assuming I change my personality to be more acceptable, and work more on my appearance, the addition of guests who are attracted to women would add a neat increase to both traffic and revenue," she said, her voice as blank and toneless as any businessman's. "Success is contingent on those factors, however. It may be better to introduce someone else as the first female host. Miss Hoshokuji, perhaps." A hint of mirth crawled into her words, and Kyoya found himself amused.

"I'm confident that Miss Hoshokuji could only drive guests away," he said. "You, however, have insight into what works and why. If you put in the effort, you could be successful."

"While I am flattered by this hypothetical, it would do nothing for my plans for the future. Becoming a hostess would damage my prospects if I try to go into anything legitimate. Men and women are treated differently in this world, Ootori. Surely your sister has taught you that much?" She still hadn't turned to look at him, and so Kyoya didn't feel quite as much of an urge to suppress the scowl which took over his face.

"Fuyumi is content," he said, not asking how Granger had even known about her, much less her personal feelings or situation.

"I'm sure she is now," Granger said, "but can you imagine how it must have felt to know that she would never have a place in her own family's business? And you think that being the third son is bad enough. If you show enough aptitude then someday you may play a part, but your sister will never have that chance, and only because she was born a woman."

"It's the way things are. She's accepted it."

"Now imagine that when she was in high school, she grew frustrated with her lot in life and accepted an invitation to be a hostess, entertaining and flirting with boys. Would she still be looking for a marriage contract now, I wonder? Would your father have disowned her?"

She had a point. His father wouldn't be happy to find out what Kyoya was doing in his free time, but it would be much, much worse if Fuyumi had been in his place. He would have called her a whore, disowned her, cut off her allowance and her dowry. However— "It's one thing for a woman of my sister's status, but quite another for a foreign orphan commoner."

"As my brief introduction to Miss Hoshokuji informed me, I already have enough people whispering about my low breeding. There's no need to increase those numbers."

"You're almost the top student in our year, though," Kyoya said. He'd checked. If she'd been there for the first semester then it was entirely likely that she would have taken over his own position as top student. The technicality didn't sit easy with him. "Some people will look down on you no matter what you do."

"The truth is malleable. Who's to say I didn't sleep my way there, hm? That's what they'll say if I do become a host. You're just a step away from sex workers, you know."

"And how would things go if you had the support of several families with wealth and influence?"

"I couldn't ask for that," Granger snapped. "And I have no guarantee of follow-through. It would be moronic and naive of me to entrust my future to high school students who would face no consequences should they conveniently 'forget' their promises."

Kyoya wanted to protest their honorability, but that would be missing the point. "You aren't talking like you're refusing," he realized.

"You're right," Granger said in a half-laugh. "In the end, I doubt it'll be a concern."

"Why is that?"

Granger turned to face him at last, and despite her cheerful expression there was a gravity to her which made Kyoya pay close attention to her words. "I'm good at persuading people," she said, and her smile didn't reach her eyes.

"Think about it," said Kyoya, skin prickling.

"There's no need," said Granger. "If you're serious about your offer, then I accept. It sounds interesting. Though I will have to let Umehito know... That won't be a fun conversation. Perhaps it'll be an opportunity to test the potion. He'll have fun with that." Her voice had devolved into a stream-of-consciousness mumble, not meant for his ears but not a secret either.

"We'll start working on your persona after club hours end today. I trust you'll stick around until then?"

"Of course," she said. "Remember, Ootori, you owe me."

He might someday soon regret allowing himself to become indebted to this loan shark. Kyoya pushed up his glasses and coughed. When he looked up Granger was walking away, and it occurred to him that there was a peculiar juxtaposition of stillness and motion to her; her hair, though delicate tendrils escaped her serviceable plait, remained fixed and immobile, but the hem of her shirt ruffled in an unseen breeze. Her image was hazy, as though she vibrated with power. It was such a silly thing to strike fear into his heart, but strike fear it did.

Perhaps, with Granger, magic wasn't so far-fetched.

###x###

"What's the main demographic of boys who would seek out the services of a high school host club?" Granger asked. She chewed on the end of her pen and then stopped, looking down at it with surprised irritation. "Lonely boys, I'll bet. Romantics, obviously. They'll be wanting a virtual girlfriend experience. What do you all think?"

"What about allure, mystery?" Tamaki suggested, swooning backwards. "Surely any boy who—"

"No," said Granger. "Yes, that's one of the archetypes, but not the main one. There's only one of me, remember, and we need to balance my own natural acting ability with the most profitable persona. Thank you for your input, though. Certainly, if you do decide to include another hostess, that would be the right choice."

Poor Tamaki didn't know what to do with such understated praise, and he sat down again with a perplexed, pleased expression.

"Right, so you should be a virtual girlfriend," said one of the twins, who'd sat on Granger's right side.

"But what would that entail specifically?" said the other, who'd sat on Granger's left side.

Granger tapped the pen against the table. "Good question. Do you have any suggestions?"

"Pour tea."

"Be sweet."

"Keep those books around—"

"But not too many."

"Or too often."

"Use friendly language."

"Ask about themselves a lot."

Granger jotted each point down in neat, round script. "A good start," she said, and the twins beamed. "I'll have to practice the—"

The doors swung open with such force that they hit the walls and recoiled.

Kyoya closed his eyes, feeling a headache coming on already. How had he forgotten about Renge?

"Oh, Kyoya, you didn't tell me you brought that commoner back here!" Renge was all smiles, and those smiles were made of far more canines than the human mouth contained.

"This is Hermione Granger, our newest host," said Kyoya.

Granger, on cue, stood and said, "A pleasure to see you again, Miss Hoshokuji. How have you been?" Her eyes were huge and round, her smile gentle and unassuming. It was as though she'd donned a Nadeshiko coat.

"I've been fine," said Renge, who seemed suddenly uncertain. "I thought you said you had no interest in coming back here?"

"That's true, but I thought it a worthy endeavor to help out my classmates. Don't you think so?" The question was so soft, so worldly, that Kyoya himself would have felt uncomfortable arguing with her.

"Yes, I- I suppose," said Renge.

"Please, come sit with me," said Granger. "I'll pour you some tea. Is Earl Grey all right? It's a favorite of mine." Renge nodded dumbly, and Hermione poured them both a cup of tea.

"Every time I meet you, you're a different person," Renge mumbled.

"Does the inconsistency bother you?"

"Yes!" cried Renge. "How can you be so cheerful one day, so blunt the next, and now so soft? How is anyone supposed to know how to treat you? How can anyone trust you?"

"Perhaps you expect too much from others," Granger said. "No one is consistent. That's what being human is. Are you social and bubbly all the time, Miss Hoshokuji?"

"No, of course not."

"Sometimes you don't feel like it, is that right? Sometimes you don't have the energy?"

"I suppose."

"It would certainly be convenient if everyone stayed the same, but then how does anyone learn?" Granger smiled again, sipping her tea. "Do you think you give others enough credit? It takes work to present yourself exactly as you are, whether you're flouting expectations or not."

Renge, thoughtful, was mimicking Granger's posture. Her spine straightened, her hands coming to fold over her teacup like an embrace. "Maybe you're right," she said.

Granger reached out a hand and grasped Renge's for only a moment before retreating.

"You remind me of my mother," said Renge at last. And then, quieter, "I miss her."

"I miss my mother, too," Granger said. "But she's safer where she is. I like to think she's happier, too."

Kyoya, who'd forgotten he was even a person, came back to himself at the beginning of such uncharacteristic emotional vulnerability. The others were similarly entranced, staring at the marvelous change in Granger's entire countenance.

"Miss Hoshokuji, you're a sweet girl." A blatant lie. "If you need to talk to someone, I'm here. But for now, the other hosts and I need to arrange matters for tomorrow."

"May I stay here?" Renge begged.

"Is that a good idea? You'd have to be very quiet and entertain yourself. Can you do that?" Here her voice went low, a velvet crowbar, and she took another sip of tea.

"Yes!" said Renge.

"How about this, Miss Hoshokuji. You may stay just for today, but you must keep your promise. If you cannot, then tomorrow you will listen when I ask you to go. All right?"

"Okay," said Renge. "Okay, I'll go sit over there. Is that good?"

"Yes, that's good." Granger put her finger over her mouth, reminding Renge that she was to be quiet.

"Mione, you're amazing!" Honey cried once Renge was settled in at a table across the parlor.

Granger shrugged, a roguish grin overtaking her encouraging smile in the space of a blink. "It's positively Freudian," she crowed.

Kyoya sighed, knowing without even looking that Tamaki would be confused. "She means that boys want to date people who remind them of their mothers, and girls want to date people who remind them of their fathers."

"Creepy," said the twins.

"In a manner of speaking," said Granger. "It's more like people instinctively try to recreate their own upbringing, with themselves as one parent and a partner as the other. It does tend to get problematic, however, when the upbringing was less than ideal."

"Anyway," said Kyoya pointedly, "Was that the persona you plan on using?"

"Yes," said Granger.

"Are you sure you can keep that up?" It seemed so different from her normal personality. It was fantastic, true, but was it sustainable?

"It's not so different from... yes, I can keep it up." A twinge of pain flashed across her face, but was just as soon gone.

"If you say so, then let's move on to other matters."

###x###

Granger started the next day. She showed up to Music Room #3 in her regular uniform, black slacks and a white button-down. She was bare-faced.

"I'll need to be more feminine," she began, all business. "What do you have for me?"

"The regular uniform would be ill-advised, in my opinion. Not only will you blend in, it's too playful for your persona. In light of this, I've prepared this." He set a bundle of silk down on the arm of a nearby sofa.

Granger swept up the cloth and shook it out. "It looks... good," she said. It was a more feminine upgrade of her current uniform: a fitted silk button-down blouse with long sleeves and a black pleated skirt which would come down to just above her knees.

"I've also taken the liberty of calling a makeup artist. We can work with him and figure out exactly the look we want, and he'll teach you how to replicate it."

"Perfect," said Granger. "When does he get here?"

"Any minute now," Kyoya said. He was meant to arrive before Granger did, but Granger was early.

"Even better. I'll go get changed." She threaded her way through couches and tables to a door on the far side of the room, which was close to the door to the kitchenette.

Kyoya watched her go with the same bemusement he always felt around her.

It took barely half an hour to work with the cosmetician, who spun out makeup products one after the other only for Granger to shoot them down.

"Natural," she emphasized. "Not too glamorous. I want to be able to pass for wearing nothing. Can you do that?" she seemed unusually knowledgeable of the technicalities of makeup, but Kyoya supposed that it wasn't that unusual.

"Will you be able to do this again?" Kyoya asked once the man took his leave.

Granger gave him a look that told him that he was possibly the least intelligent being she'd ever met. "Yes," she said.

He had his doubts. The makeup artist had been worth the price; her face was sculpted, her eyes darker than usual, her mouth a faint berry color just a smidge deeper than her natural tone. When she blinked, her eyelashes lay in perfect sooty crescents against her cheeks, although there was no hint of mascara anywhere. She was pretty, but not gorgeous, as they'd requested.

"You'll see," she said. "Come practice with me, Ootori. We have enough time."

They took a moment to rearrange the sofas so that three couches faced a central coffee table, and placed an armchair in the remaining spot. The armchair would be for Granger, obviously.

"Sit, please," she said in a smooth, kind voice, gesturing to the spot closest to her. "We didn't get a chance to speak earlier, what with all the preparations. Please tell me about your day, Mr Ootori."

"You may call me Kyoya," he said before he'd thought it through. Despite himself, her voice purred in his bones, and he was left momentarily speechless. He could completely understand how she'd shut down Renge the day before. It was very different having such attention directed at him personally.

They talked at length, and Kyoya failed to notice when the other hosts arrived and assembled.

"It's nearly time, Kyoya," she said, and his insides jumped. It was surprise that the time had gotten away from him, not pleasure that she'd spoken his name, he told himself.

He unfolded from the sofa and made his way to his station near the door, shaking his head to clear the fuzz from his thoughts.

The doors opened, and a pair of girls came in and looked around. "There's a new host?" they said. "Kyoya, Kyoya, is there a new host?"

Kyoya nodded. "Ladies, may I introduce you to our first hostess? Hermione, come here, please."

Granger's movements seemed to flow together, as though ten steps were one single dance. "Ladies," she said, curtsying. "I'm happy to see you here."

"This is Hermione Granger," Kyoya said, his blood running thick with pride. "Hermione, this is Miss Matsumoto and Miss Honda."

Granger smiled something slow and gentle, and the girls had no choice but to smile back. "Your presence honours us," she said.

The girls tittered their thanks, cheeks flushed, and requested Tamaki.

"Stay here," Kyoya said. "It's more efficient than coming up every time a guest arrives."

"As you say," said Granger, clasping her hands together at her front.

"You're doing very well," he said. "Keep it up."

"Thank you, Kyoya."

###x###

"Six requests. That's not bad at all," Ootori said.

"If you say so," said Hermione. Her only frames of reference were the other hosts, who'd had months to build up their clientele. Ootori was unlikely to try to comfort her about her performance, so she would trust him.

"Are we still visiting your new resort this weekend, Kyoya?" Tamaki asked.

"Yes," Ootori said. "However, we will have to make additional arrangements for Miss Granger. Assuming she's free this weekend, that is?"

It was clear that it was a not-so-subtle order that she clear her schedule, but Hermione shook her head. "I'm afraid you all will have to go without me," she said. "I have plans with Umehito. Nekozawa, that is."

"Oh. Him," grumbled the twins.

"I see," said Ootori, pushing his glasses up his nose. There was a pause where perhaps there normally would have been a threat, but none came. Hermione smirked. She had one up on him officially, and unofficially she could threaten to quit whenever she wanted. He couldn't force her to do anything.

She knew how to deal with arrogant rich people, after all. He may be more of a challenge than Malfoy intellectually, but Malfoy had actually had something on her and they all knew it. If she'd been born a pureblood, she would still be a woman. If she'd been born a pureblood man, she still wouldn't have the money and influence that the Malfoys had. It was refreshing not to have to fight so hard whenever she wanted to do something that others didn't agree with.

When she looked up from her hands, tucking away a secret smile, she found every set of eyes on her. "I'm sorry?" she said. "What else needs to be discussed?" Like Halloween, perhaps. As a host, she would probably have to participate. She wasn't looking forward to it.

"Yes, there is," said Ootori, and the air felt normal again.


	4. Concoct and Confound

“Ootori,” Granger asked, “Is there something going on? The students are more boisterous than usual.” She sat straight in her chair and yawned, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth. Kyoya didn’t know a yawn could be cute, or sophisticated, or anything besides a yawn, but there she was, proving him wrong. They’d agreed that it would be best for her to stay in character as much as possible even outside of club hours, and he was quietly impressed that she was remembering even in her evident tiredness. 

“You didn’t know? Today and tomorrow Ouran Academy is hosting our annual cultural club exposition.” Kyoya frowned. “If you were planning to take the day off, I would suggest that you reconsider. The Host Club must put its best foot forward.”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t make any plans,” she said. “When you say ‘cultural club’, what does that mean? What kind of numbers are we expecting? Which of Ouran’s clubs will be performing? I don’t suppose  _ we’re _ performing, are we? You wouldn’t have allowed me to remain ignorant for this long.” Her brow furrowed, her posture straightening further, her legs crossing. Her skirt inched up to show a bit of thigh, and Kyoya could see the goosebumps on her skin. It was cold, after all, but she’d taken her change in uniform seriously.

“Well,” said Kyoya, defending his expression against the soft smile threatening to overtake him, “Most clubs which are specific to the region or academy, or focus on the performing arts, are considered ‘cultural’. We’re only hosting schools within our region, so we’re expecting a total of five schools with perhaps three clubs each at most. Within those, not every single member is usually selected to represent their school, so a maximum of six members per club. That makes an estimate of—”

“Fifteen clubs, ninety people at most. What were last year’s numbers?”

“Barely half that,” Kyoya said. 

“And the performances?”

“Only the drama and choral clubs will be performing,” said Kyoya. “Not us. We may expect to have some visitors, nevertheless.”

“Understood,” said Granger. “It will be interesting to see how my research matches up with reality. Of course, Ouran is undeniably the best, but seeing other examples should prove entertaining.”

Before Kyoya could reply, the teacher tapped on the board in that obnoxious way he did to get their attention, and Kyoya had nothing to distract him from the warmth in his belly. It was her voice, he decided. It was too smooth, too kind. It fooled him into thinking she cared about him, and made him want her to.

Throughout the remainder of Advanced Calculus, Kyoya tried to focus on the lesson but then Granger would make some small, subtle move, and Kyoya’s attention was riveted. She was no artless child, true, but he doubted that she was calculating enough to do such a thing for no real gain. If she wasn’t planning it, designing it, then that meant the fault must lie with  _ him _ . 

Unacceptable. 

Calculus had never been less diverting.

“Ootori—”

“Kyoya,” he said automatically. “I told you to call me Kyoya.”

For a moment her serene smile twitched, but with what emotion he couldn’t say. “Kyoya. I’ll need to drop by the Black Magic Club before I join you all to greet our guests.”

“That's fine,” he said. It wasn't fine. She spent entirely too much time in the basement with Nekozawa, but he knew enough to know that trying to forbid her from going wouldn't end well, and may even cause her to quit being a hostess. 

That would leave him at a disadvantage for several reasons, the most pressing being that they would lose the substantial traffic and income which had been steadily increasing upon Granger’s arrival. It had been two weeks, and now every day she was averaging a dozen requests, with her highest request rate being twenty-six. Those who came in regularly were more than willing to pay to make sure they had priority placement, with two begging to pay to be able to stay at her side the whole time. Normally he would refuse, but they each offered such a sum—  _ daily _ sum— that Kyoya felt it prudent to bend the rules just a bit. 

She was only improving. Kyoya couldn’t blame her patrons for being smitten. 

“I’m glad to hear that,” said Granger, and for a moment Kyoya was unsure whether she knew what he was thinking. He wouldn’t put it past her. 

The bell rang before Kyoya could think of what to say.

“Granger!” called Musuko Tachikawa, walking toward them. “Please allow me to walk you to your next class?” His voice was giddy, breathless. Pathetic. 

She didn’t even need the warning look from Kyoya. “I’m sorry, Mr Tachikawa, it’s against the Host Club rules to spend time with any one boy outside of club hours.” She bowed her head modestly, and looked up at the starstruck boy through her lashes. “I know we have the cultural exposition today and tomorrow, and I wouldn’t wish to deprive you of a chance to enjoy the festivities. I hope to see you after it’s over, though.” 

“O-o-of course, Granger. Of course. I don’t care about the exposition, can I see you today?” 

“That’s up to Suoh or Ootori,” she said, neatly passing the question to Kyoya. 

It was a dilemma. On the one hand, it was important to keep the momentum going, for Tachikawa had never come to request her. However, entertaining guests from the other schools would be a challenge if they were also entertaining guests. If they just made visiting hours later on in the day, perhaps it would work. “Our schedule is closed for the first two hours after class is over,” he said, “But after that time we will be accepting requests.”

“Thank you, Ootori,” Granger said, and for the second in which their eyes met Kyoya drowned in the mirth he could see behind hers. Too soon, she turned back to Tachikawa. “I hope to see you then. For now, though, we must all get to class. The bell will ring again soon.”

Tachikawa stammered his goodbyes, swearing he would be in Music Room 3 the moment he was allowed, and ran off. 

“Let’s go, Ootori,” she muttered, picking up her bag, which was perhaps the single deviation from her image. It was undoubtedly full to bursting with books, and often Kyoya caught her pulling one or several out when she had free time. 

“I’ll be walking you to class,” Kyoya said, savoring this smallest of victories. “It’s dangerous for you to be alone. Desire doesn’t always manifest in healthy ways, and I’d like to avoid you getting hurt.”

She looked amused but allowed it. “Come, then, or we’ll be late.”

###x###

Umehito had laughed for ages when Hermione told him of her decision to become a Host. To his credit, he never doubted whether she was telling the truth or whether she was capable of fulfilling such a role, but it had been several weeks and with time so passed his amusement. 

“You don’t visit often enough,” he’d accused. 

“I know, I know,” she’d grumbled. 

So, in an effort to preserve the relationship she’d built, Hermione planned her every free moment around visiting him. She stayed at his mansion over weekends and instead of taking an hour between class and requesting hours to get ready in Music Room 3, she made the trip to the basement. 

She was cutting it close, not having left the Black Magic Club room until the hour had struck, and she hurried through the lonely walk upstairs. 

“Where are you going, fair maiden? Won’t you allow me to accompany you?”

Ah, yes, the students from the other schools had arrived. Hermione stopped and turned to the feminine voice. “I’m going to Music Room 3. I apologize, I had hoped to be with my fellow hosts to greet our guests. It cannot be helped. My name is Hermione Granger, miss.”

The girl standing before her— uncomfortably close— was tall and thin, with close-cropped brown hair. She wore a long skirt and a blazer which were clearly part of her uniform. “My name is Benio Amakusa, maiden, though you may call me Benio. How delicate, how ladylike you are! Please, allow me to accompany you.”

It took effort not to allow her lips to quirk up, but Hermione maintained her gentle smile. The “I'd follow you anywhere” hung in the air between them. “You may do as you please, miss, but I would be honored to show you the way.” 

Amakusa grabbed her hand and tugged her forward, wrapping her other arm around Hermione’s waist. “Maiden—”

“Miss Amakusa, I suggest you unhand me this instant,” Hermione said, unsure where she was finding that calm tone. Her skin crawled, not with the contact but with the magic rising to defend her.

Perhaps it was something in her countenance, or perhaps her magic shocked her, but Amakusa slacked her grip enough for Hermione to pull away. “My apologies,” she said. “To hold you would be heaven, and I could not resist.”

“Shall we leave? My fellow hosts will be missing my presence by now,” said Hermione, smoothing out her skirt. 

“Oh, yes, of course! Do lead the way.” 

Hermione smiled, aiming for her usual serenity. Some impish impulse made her put out her hand. Amakusa seemed to know what to do with it, tucking it into her elbow. 

Hermione’s magic grumbled its warning beneath her skin, as much a scold to Hermione as to Amakusa. Her magic had always been a possessive thing, unhappy with most touch. It didn’t like this Benio girl with the same near-violence with which it hated Suoh. It tolerated Umehito, and Hermione was usually so pleased not to have to immediately reject touch that she allowed Umehito almost free reign to hug and touch her when he felt the need.

Of course, Hermione knew it wasn’t a good idea to let her magic have too much control over her actions. She planned to grow with it as equals, as companions, rather than allowing her magic to grow beyond her. She’d met wizards like that, wizards who were puppets to their magic. Lord Voldemort was one such wizard, being so small and useless without his magic to guide him that he feared more than anything that it would desert him. It had become a mission to appease his magic, she suspected, as if plying it with power would cause it to accept him once more. It wouldn’t work, not if he lived for thousands of years. 

“What are you thinking, maiden?” Amakusa asked. She smelled of cedarwood. Hermione wasn’t a fan. 

“I’m thinking of someone I knew once,” she said, unaware for the moment that her magic was no longer restrained beneath her skin, but rather bleeding out into the air around her. 

“He makes you angry, doesn’t he?” 

“Yes,” Hermione said. “He hurt people I care about.” There was no point in lying, after all. 

“I can feel it. It’s... visceral. You exude life, maiden.” Her voice held a note which Hermione had become familiar with over the last weeks. She didn’t know how or why, but Amakusa was smitten. It wasn’t a bad thing, exactly, just confusing.

The magic. It was the magic, it must be. Why else would she be affecting Muggles so strongly? It did fit in with her persona: the perfect lady with steel and allure underneath. It would be too much effort to suppress the magic, and it would only become upset with her. She’d always worked to keep her magic happy, and doing something so stupid would hurt their relationship. 

“Thank you, Miss Amakusa.” She glanced up at the taller girl and realized that she hadn’t even been watching where they were going, so absorbed was she in observing Hermione. Hermione looked down, pretending she hadn’t seen anything. “Here we are,” she said. 

The door was open, and within stood two girls in the same uniform that Amakusa wore, St Lobelia Academy’s. They’d made minor changes to theirs, making it slightly different from the pictures in the books Hermione had read, but it was definitely recognizable. 

The hosts, for their parts, were dressed as knights templar, with white tunics and red crosses prominent on their chests. An odd choice, in Hermione’s opinion. Knowing Ootori, her costume would be waiting for her in the changing room. 

“My apologies, I should have come earlier,” she said. “Forgive me, ladies, gentlemen.” 

Both of the Lobelia girls turned and beamed at her. “Oh, Benibara, where have you found this gem?” cried the taller of the two. 

“She was wandering the halls. I would have thought her a spirit were it not for the life which radiates from her.” 

Hermione chanced a look at the hosts, none of whom looked quite comfortable. The girls were lesbians, immune to their charms. It was up to Hermione to entertain their guests, apparently. 

“Please, come sit,” she said, leading Amakusa to a couch. “Would you like tea?”

“Yes,” said the smallest of the girls. 

“But please, do not leave,” implored the taller one.

Hermione inclined her head at Ootori, asking him without words to handle the situation. He nodded back and disappeared in the kitchenette.

“My name is Hermione Granger,” she said, folding up on her armchair as she was accustomed to doing. “May I have the honour of knowing yours, ladies?”

The short one leaned forward and enthused, “I’m Hinako Tsuwabuki, but the others call me Hinagiku.” 

“My name is Chizuru Maihara,” said the taller one. 

“Oh, the Zuka Club!” Hermione said. Ootori appeared unobtrusively behind her, and Hermione motioned for him to set down the tray. Hermione poured them all a cup, beginning with the clear leader, Amakusa, then Maihara, and finally Tsuwabuki. 

“You know of us, then?” Amakusa preened.

There was no harm in flattering them a little, Hermione decided. “Yes, of course. When I moved to Japan, I researched every school in the area. In the end, I decided on Ouran Academy, but Lobelia was a strong contender. The Zuka Club especially sounded like fun.”

“We’re glad you think so,” Tsuwabuki purred.

“This club is a disgrace,” Maihara said to her clubmates. “To think that they’ve brought this beautiful maiden down with them— it’s insupportable.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” said Amakusa, turning toward the assembly of hosts. “ The Host Club's president may be a pretty little halfer, but he shouldn't be using his looks to create a fictitious romance. Attempting to fool the hearts of pure young maidens is demeaning to all women. Your so-called ‘club activities’ are nothing more than debasing macho fantasies! I promise you, we will bring you down. The Ouran Host Club will be abolished!”

“That’s quite enough, Miss Amakusa,” Hermione said, forcing her muscles to relax. “Please do not insult my friends in such a manner. Your assumption that the girls who come here are coerced into doing so implies that they are weak of will and easily misled.”

The three girls faced her again and blinked. 

“She’s right,” said Tsuwabuki. 

“Hermione Granger,” Amakusa said, as if she were tasting the syllables. “That a pure beauty would also have such superior understanding...”

“She’s perfect, Benio,” Maihara said. 

“Hermione, why don’t you come with us? We can handle the paperwork, and you can be with us before the week is out,” Tsuwabuki said.

“Please, Hermione,” said Maihara.

Hermione closed her eyes. How officious! Hadn’t she already said that she’d made her choice? “My apologies, ladies. As much as I would like to become better acquainted with you all, there are people here who need me. Please, don’t go to such trouble on my account.” 

“Of course, we must give you time to think about it,” said Amakusa with the air of someone indulging a child’s silly wish. “We will come back for you tomorrow. Goodbye for now, maiden.”

The other two echoed the sentiment and twirled out the door, clicking it shut behind them.

The room was silent for a moment, and Hermione’s limbs trembled.

“‘Mione—”

She seized Amakusa’s abandoned, empty teacup and threw it with all her might. Her magic shattered it before it even hit the wall. 

“Miss Granger—”

“Shut up,” Hermione hissed. “Just... just give me a moment.”

“Takashi, ‘Mione is being scary,” Haninozuka wailed behind her.

She had to calm down before things started breaking on their own. “Please, leave me,” she said. 

After a moment of silence, Hermione checked for auras and found only Ootori still remaining. 

“I hope you’re planning to pay for that,” Ootori said, coolly.

“What do you mean?” Hermione said, feeling her fury soaking into the floor around her. “It’s not broken.”

“Of course it’s— what?”

“Hardy little things, aren’t they?” Hermione walked over to the surreptitiously-repaired teacup and picked it up, examining it for chips. It was perfect, exactly the way it had been. “See?”

“I saw it shatter,” said Ootori. 

“Then how come it’s not broken now?” Hermione asked.

“These things tend to happen around you,” Ootori said. “I don’t know how you do it, but you do.”

“If you say so,” Hermione shrugged.

###x###

Everyone was unsettled after Granger’s unprecedented paroxysm, but she seemed to slip back into her role without any problems. 

Musuko Tachikawa kept his promise, bursting in through the doors the very minute they opened for business. Kyoya repressed a scowl and processed his request for Granger. Several of her regulars weren’t far behind, including the two who paid to sit with her all day. 

Kyoya had gotten into the habit of watching her, ostensibly to assess her hosting talent. More often, though, he caught himself imagining himself sitting with her— imagining that her smiles were for him, and that they were real. Today, he watched Tachikawa fawn over her, asking all manner of questions. The other boys sat there and listened to the same answers they’d heard before with hearts in their eyes. 

His personal feelings aside, bringing on a female host was an incredibly lucrative decision. While not rivalling Tamaki’s request rate, she filled in a happy mean between Tamaki and the twins. 

“You’ve been watching ‘Mione lately,” Honey remarked, sounding older as he sometimes did. 

Kyoya looked down at the diminutive senior, surprised out of his thoughts. “She’s doing well for a rookie,” he said. 

“She isn’t actually that person. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Kyoya said, “but she plays it well.”

As suddenly as he’d come, Honey skipped back to his small table to enjoy the comforts of confectionaries. 

Honey was right, of course. What made Granger so remarkable was that, unlike the male hosts, she wasn’t even close to actually being her role. It would be downright foolish to grow attached to the  _ idea _ of a nadeshiko. Kyoya knew better than any of them just how far she altered herself to become her persona. 

Perhaps it was because he was afraid of her true personality. She could break and repair things without touching them, and something told him that that was only scratching the surface of her abilities. If he were honest with himself, her unexplained kinesis was why he let her do largely as she pleased. He would have to be an idiot not to be afraid of her, and Kyoya was anything but an idiot. 

Kyoya rang the bell for shift change, and groans of disappointment filled the room. The girls got up without a fuss, though. He looked over at Granger’s couch, but none of them had moved. 

“--This weekend, Hermione. Please. I’ll do anything!” a singularly average boy begged, and by the desperation in his voice this was only the latest in a string of pleas. 

“Mr Otokowai, it’s against club policy for me to spend time with any of our guests outside of club hours. I’m sorry, sir, but it’s not my choice.” She looked exceptionally calm, displaying none of her usual tells. 

Besides Kajo Otokowai, there were five boys littering the couches around Granger. Each looked nervous and furious, and two in particular looked willing to get physical. Intervention would be necessary—  but Kyoya waited. He wanted to know how Granger would handle the situation. 

“Kajo,” Granger said, interrupting the beginning of another round of frantic entreaties. “It’s time for you to go. I will see you the next time you come here.” She held out her hand, palm down and wrist relaxed. Perplexed and hopeful, Otokowai took it. “If you want to see me, you will come here tomorrow. Yes?”

“Of course,” Otokowai slurred, expression slack. “As you wish.”

“Go now,” she said softly.

Kyoya watched, perturbed, as Otokowai picked up his bag and marched out of the parlor.

“My apologies, gentlemen,” she said to the others. “But it is time for you to go. Thank you for keeping me company. I hope to see you all tomorrow.” Her smile was small but brilliant, and the three who hadn’t paid to stay by her side shambled off with witless, overawed grins.

Granger sipped her tea, and for the second time that day Kyoya was afraid of her.

###x###

The Zuka Club came back the next day, as promised. The twins moved out of the way of the swinging door just in time to avoid being crushed, and turned to hiss at the intruders.

“Welcome back, ladies,” Kyoya said, bowing a little. 

The three Lobelia girls ignored him completely, and Kyoya blinked, shoving his glasses up on his nose. 

“Hermione!” Amakusa called. “We’ve come to collect you!”

Kyoya let them call her for several moments before interrupting, “Hermione has yet to come in. She never does until soon before visiting hours.”

“Where is she, then?” they cried, angrier than the situation warranted.

“We’re unsure,” Kyoya said. 

“Maybe with the Black Magic Club,” the twins cut in. “But there’s no guarantee. Most of the time we can’t find her at all.”

“Would you pay us the compliment of waiting here, ladies?” Tamaki said. “Hermione shouldn’t be long.”

The girls exchanged pained glances before Amakusa sighed, “There doesn’t appear to be a better option.”

They stalked as one to Granger’s couch and sat in that same wooden formation, clearly reluctant to be entertained. Kyoya let them be. The sooner they left, the better. 

Granger was singular in her entrance in that she opened the doors as little as would allow her to slip through and sidling in. The hinges were silent that way, and she walked with even less noise. “Mr Ootori,” she said from behind him, making Kyoya jump. 

“You have guests,” he coughed, once he’d recovered his equilibrium. 

“Oh. So I do.” 

She tugged on a strand of hair apologetically, and it was only then that Kyoya really took in her appearance. Her hair was huge and frizzy, her face was flushed, and her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows. As she subtly pointed out, she wasn’t fit to entertain guests. 

“I’ve got this,” she said, an idea flashing in her eyes like a meteor. Before Kyoya could protest, she was approaching the Zuka Club girls.

“Hermione, at last!” Tsuwabuki cried. 

“I’m sorry,” Granger said, grinning sheepishly. “I offered to help my friend clean up a party and the time got away from me. Is it visiting hours already?” She crossed over to her usual perch and arranged herself with less poise than usual. Her tone, too, contained less courtesy and more real friendliness.

“No,” said Amakusa— was she blushing? It was hard to tell— “Indeed, you need never clean or see this room again. We’ve come to collect you.”

“That’s kind of you,” Granger said, “but entirely unnecessary. I enjoy volunteering my time here, Miss Amakusa, and I don’t need rescuing.”

“Of course you don’t need rescuing,” Maihara cooed. 

“You would be honoring us with your company,” Tsuwabuki said.

Granger shook her head, and even that gentle motion swung her hair. “You don’t understand, ladies. I will not go with you. I’m conscious of the compliment, but nothing you say will change my mind.”

“But—”

“Enough. You’re attempting to impose your wills over mine as if you know better than I what’s best for me. You’re acting like everything I despise in men. Why would I want anything to do with hypocrites who claim to advocate for women but who actually just put themselves in place as their new superiors? It’s disgusting, and I want nothing to do with it. No, Benio, let me speak. I’ve allowed you your piece, and it’s only fair that you allow me mine.” Granger glared at the three shocked girls around her. “You’ve come into _my_ home and you insult everyone I hold dear as if you’re actually _better_ somehow. I want you to get out. Perform your little song and then go home.”

Perhaps that was too far, but Kyoya couldn’t bring himself to move or even speak. He could only stare in something close to horror as Granger seemed to tower over her guests, emitting a warning that any intelligent being would recognize. The girls seemed just as frozen as Kyoya and the other hosts.

Something cracked behind them all, and although the sound was startling in the silence no one turned to look.

“Am I understood?” Granger asked, and smiled. The tension bled out of the air just enough for Kyoya to regain freedom of motion and intelligent thought, and the girls couldn’t absent themselves fast enough.

Everyone’s eyes remained on Granger even as the doors slammed shut. 

“That was unbecoming,” Kyoya said, cognizant of incredulous stares from his friends. 

“I know,” said Granger, standing and unrolling her sleeves. “I took on a different character. They hadn’t seen enough of my normal one to know the difference.”

“That’s not what I meant. You may have just created an enemy, not just for yourself but for all of us.”

“Sure,” she said, and then  _ laughed _ . “Like they hadn’t already pledged themselves against you. Besides, they were terrified. I guess no one’s stood up to them, and they didn’t know how to handle that. Oh, well. You’re just worried about the club’s reputation.”

“Naturally,” Kyoya drawled. 

“Look,” she said, sobering, “You have nothing to worry about. They won’t be back, and if they have any sense of self-preservation they won’t say anything, either.”

She had a point, even if she did seem unaware of just how frightening she could be. Besides, if she wasn’t going to accept his censure there was little he could do. She had no family and no job that he could influence, and no dwelling that he could find, so short of pulling his weight to get her removed from Ouran entirely, an action which far outweighed her offense, he couldn’t do anything to her.

“I suggest you prepare yourself for guests,” he said.

“Oh—” as if she’d forgotten her responsibilities— “Of course!”

 


End file.
